


Tiebreaker

by perennial_distaste



Series: An extended list of times Steve Harrington has suffered at the hands of Billy Hargrove [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: A sprinkling of plot, Billy Hargrove is still an asshole, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Fuck Boys working through their feelings, Happy Ending, M/M, Nobody Dies, S3 Non-compliant, Some angst, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, a few slurs, because
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 20:46:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20880425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perennial_distaste/pseuds/perennial_distaste
Summary: Billy doesn't die but he's still an asshole. Steve's got a little more clarity. They talk about it.





	Tiebreaker

Steve hadn’t allowed himself to visit Hawkins Memorial Hospital. After everything, he’d concluded, it was just safer to stay away. For both their sakes, but primarily for Billy’s, in the rare event that Neil Hargrove should actually set foot inside his son’s ward.

The idea of a flying bedpan aimed into his mug didn’t exactly appeal to him, either.

It was Max and El that changed his mind. He’s seen them straggling along the side of a dirt road just off Flynn St. Max, with a sad looking bunch of wildflowers drooping in her hand, leading the way for El, who shuffled along behind her with a box too big to carry.

He’d offered them a lift, like he would have on any other occasion, and then walked them to Billy’s room. Which was the gentlemanly thing to do. El was new to this and it was a big hospital and a whole bunch of other rational, logical reasons why he needed to see Billy.

He was completely out of it, the doctors had explained, as Max arranged her sad ikebana on the window sill. Unsurprising that after having half his stomach torn into by goo tentacles, Billy was being kept alive on a force-fed cocktail of Propofol and barbiturates. 

The kind used for palliative care, they were told.

Steve never missed a day after that.

He’d sit uncomfortably for hours monitoring Billy’s motionless frame.

Max and El came every other day. Sometimes the party joined them. Steve selfishly wished they’d stay home. He could do without the sidewards glances of concern from Dustin, and without Max fleeing into the bathroom every so often to hide her hiccupping, angry sobs.

And they all looked at him with such _pity_. No one said anything, but they treated him as though he was only moments away from collapsing onto his knees and screaming hysterically at the humanity of it all, like Charlton Heston at the end of that movie with the monkeys.

Which he was, but he’d do so in the privacy of his own home, away from prying eyes.

He never actually had the chance though, because Billy got better. El had cornered Steve once after a particularly gruelling day where something had gone wrong with one of his vitals, and a defibrillator was brought out, and Steve was _definitely_ about to suggest that they use it on both of them, when she’d taken his hand in hers and led him into a quiet alcove in the corridor.

“It looks bad. I know. But he is strong. He can fight it”

He did.

The next week Billy opened his eyes.

The week after he was sitting up, slightly.

Then a lot.

The last time Steve had visited, he was walking around with the matron. Furiously avoiding her advice to slow down and use the IV pole for balance.

They hadn’t talked much. Not in front of Max, certainly, who now attended with the same frequency as Steve. It was a pretty convenient cover, actually. Every time Billy raised a thick brow to question Steve’s presence, Steve would respond with an exaggerated mimicry of him driving a car. Like Billy is _that_ stupid.

_Honk, Honk, Harrington. This is a bad idea. _

Today, he’s alone. He fights the jitters that gives him. He’s already turned back twice yesterday and the day before and hasn’t slept properly since. For his own sanity, he needs to see Billy alone.

When Steve walks in, Billy is awake, absent-mindedly leafing through a novel by someone named Don DeLillo. He smirks unpleasantly at Steve when he sits down.

“You’ll like this one Harrington, it’s all about privileged fucks.” He shakes the book viciously by the spine. Like Steve’s personally responsible for its content.

“’ Course, it would require you to actually read, so –“.

He hasn’t even been here a minute. Not even had the time to spread out his legs and already Billy’s working hard at his performative antagonism.

Steve wants to remind him that the last time they saw each, Billy had held him down and kissed him and then tried to give him some kind of inexplicable farewell embrace, which was awkward and completely off-script for their night time proclivities.

Which is why, maybe, he’s trying extra hard now.

_Always overcompensating._

“You missed my dick or something?”

Steve sighs. He’s not sure what he was expecting to get from this interaction, but this is certainly on brand. He rolls his eyes. Stands.

“You know Hargrove, I’m not surprised this room’s nearly always empty except for me and your sister.” He looks around as if to demonstrate. “Pretty sure, even the orderlies can’t stand you now that you’re up and yapping.”

“ ’gives a fuck what they think.”

It’s getting dark outside. Steve reckons he’s seen what he came to see. His, not-ex-boyfriend, alive and well. Bitching him out. Like always.

It’s honestly a wakeup call.

He turns to leave. Billy reaches out and snags his wrist. “Why'd you come here, Stevie?”

_Stevie. Stevie. Princess. King Steve. Call me by my name, fucker. _

“Did you want to see me suffer? Take a look, then.” He motions at the open front of his shirt. “They changed my bandages today, it’s all red and raw, take a good, long look, Ste-“

“I don’t come here to gloat. Or to watch you suffer, asshole.”

“Well, why not? You won, didn’t you? I’m here and you’re out there, all happy and healthy. Probably found yourself someone else to keep your bed warm.”

Billy turns his head and motions at the small window, littered with the little handmade knickknacks left by El and Max.

“Has that been keeping you awake, Billy?” Steve forces himself to smile. “Because, I think you should focus on your recovery, rather than who I fuck.”

_Have you always been this obvious?_

“So, you are fucking someone else.” He sinks into the bed. Steve realises that it must have cost him all his energy to be upright and hostile. “God, you’re a slut.”

Except, it lacks Billy’s usual bite. Mostly, he just sounds tired and sad. He’s all spent out and miserable in his cot.

They’d agreed, silently, never to talk about this. The _why_ and the _how_ of it all. Billy, because of his issues and Steve, because of Nancy.

So, Steve takes a deep breath.

_God, I hate you._

“Why do you think I slept with you?” he asks Billy quietly. 

There's an uncomfortable beat or so before he speaks, “I was surprised too.” Billy picks at the IV insertion point. “I knew you were attracted to me -”

Steve scoffs.

“- But I never thought you’d do anything about it. Boys like you they don’t - they never have the nerve.”

The implications not lost on Steve. There’s a nagging there, that he’s not so special. Billy’s familiar with _boys like him_.

He continues. “I thought later that you were like Wheeler” he looked up to clarify, solemnly, “Nancy, your ex, I mean. Both of you are real keen to prove to everyone that you’re… different”.

Steve’s suddenly all ears to Billy’s half curdled psychoanalysis. “Different, how?”

“I don’t know, like you're not some boring cliché. Like you know something no else does.”

He chuckles resentfully.

“I guess you did.”

Steve turns back to the chair, “It wasn’t my secret to tell”.

“Could have told me not to go near the woods, though”.

There it is. Billy’s bitter flavour resentment floating to the surface. He sounds like his old self again, before the Starcourt catastrophe, when his viciousness permeated even their most prosaic conversations. Steve’s not stupid, he knows how fast this can plummet. All of Billy’s provocations take about 3.5 seconds to escalate into a full scale shitstorm.

Except, It’s not right to punch someone when they’re down, and Billy’s extra tragic right now anyway.

He’s looking at Steve strangely, like maybe, he’s about to cry. “You didn’t have to say there were monsters or whatever. Coyotes, stray dogs, anything would have been fine”.

“Well, _you_ could have dated me properly”.

It just, kind of, slips out.

He hadn’t necessarily intended it to. It feels a little like showing his cards too soon, but if they’re gonna play the blame-game, he’s got a long list of grievances he’d like to present to the court. Its petty and totally bullshit and really doesn’t matter because, like, Billy’s already hospitalized and Steve’s been an emotional wreck for the last month, but the precedent has been set and now they’re going to tear at each other’s weak spots until someone buckles.

Billy looks shocked by his sentiment. Which might be a cue from the universe, except now Steve’s got a taste for the sauce. Seems more cathartic anyway, to just. keep. going. Billy’s sitting there silently with a hangdog look and a whole lot of bandages but Steve can feel himself scramble to erase the emotionality of what he just said.

“Instead of calling up whenever Karen Wheeler remembered she had parental duties.” He leans in, feeling particularly nasty. “Maybe, you wouldn’t have had to skulk around town being everybody’s dirty, little secret”.

Billy’s looking a little dazed. His under eye bags emphasised by the flickering fluorescent lights. “I never actually slept with her.”

“All three of her children, thank you for your restraint.” Steve bites back.

It’s silent between them. The last time they were this honest Steve had been crying and Billy’s whole mouth had bled onto Steve’s face.

Billy focuses furiously on the IV cord again. It seems an endless source of fascination to him now that Steve’s digging in.

“Would you have been with me, then? For real, I mean?” His voice is quiet, just above a whisper. He sounds _hopeful_.

_Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. For wasting my time. And yours. For making us both miserable. For hurting yourself like this. For hurting me. For nearly dying. _

“Sure, man”. Steve shrugs. Super casual. Like he’s not about to rip Billy’s face clean off.

Billy smiles at him, and for the first time in his life, he looks his actual age.

_Why is it so easy to forget that he’s barely 18?_

“Really?”

He sounds painfully young too. Someone, maybe one of the hospital staff, has shaved off his pornstache. Maybe he’d shaved it himself. He’s surprisingly cherubic, even in this lighting, with his blonde curls. Looking at Steve. Baby blues all blink, blink, blink.

Would he have ever said any of this if he hadn’t been on the brink of death only a few weeks ago? Steve thinks he knows the answer. It’s heartbreaking actually, Billy’s inability to make life easy for himself.

“I’ve agreed to a lot worse from you. If you remember.”

_You better. The bedroom gymnastic I executed to keep you entertained_.

“You must have liked me, a little?”

God, the hopefulness in his voice. Or hopelessness.

It feels awkward to have this much power in their exchange. Like, Billy’s always the one forcing things at Steve and Steve usually just goes along with it. It’s a little uncomfortable. Less enjoyable than he thought it would feel to have Billy begging for clarity.

There’s a little back and forth though. Like, some of his sadism has transferred over. Or worse, that it was in Steve all along.

“Nah.”

It’s curious to watch his face crumble. Steve thinks of the scoreboard they had, and the King-Steve performance that Billy wanted, and decides that this is the last time they’re going to do that. If Billy’s not grown enough, then he will be.

He sighs. “Come on, man. You’re not stupid? Right?”

He prods at Billy through the grey mist of depression that’s settled on him.

“I don’t care what you heard, but I’m not that much of a slut to just let random assholes have a go at me.”

Billy’s looking morose. Bottom jaw locked in tight. It’s probably _exactly_ what he’s heard. Steve’s gonna have to talk to Tommy about this later.

“I didn’t do it to prove a point, either. That’s Nancy’s thing.”

Billy closes his eyes and buries his head back into the pillow as far as it will go. He clicks aggressively at the hospital remote to lay the bed vertical, but it seems stuck in an upright position. The message is clear enough though, he’s physically indicating to Steve his exit out of this conversation.

But, like, he’s gonna hear it.

So, Steve’s pressing on. “I thought it was pretty obvious, actually.”

He’s holding out. It’s palpable that he’s trying so hard not to ask, when any normal person would. Billy’s mind is, unfortunately, a collection of gears slowly turning in tune to a melody of ‘acceptable male behaviour’. He thinks the battle with Steve is lost and now he’s determined, with every fibre, not to pick up what Steve is laying down. His eyelids flutter and Steve can see the nervous emotion behind them.

_Ask me._

It’s like pulling teeth. Billy doesn’t open his eyes. “I don’t know, Steve.” He’s sounds utterly defeated. “Just put me out of my misery, for fuck sake.” He sighs. It’s all very fatalistic.

_Please._

“Tell me why.” He breathes into Steve’s silence.

“I loved you.”

_There. _

Simple. Quick. It slips off his tongue like a wet skittle and lands like a tonne of bricks on Billy’s ratty curls. His eyes bulge open like a Looney Tune. Steve wants to laugh. He’s restraining himself only because of Billy’s current condition.

“I mean, I still do. Even though you’re fucking slow.”

This is the probably the least talkative that Steve’s ever seen him, but Billy’s face is pretty expressive tonight. Easy to read for the first time.

Moments pass. Billy just stares.

“You’re supposed to say it back, I think.”

“Oh.” Maybe he’s collecting his braincells off the floor. Steve gives him a moment.

Billy smiles, slowly. His canines glint, the way they used to. “You’re not supposed to ask me to say it, Stevie.”

Deep breath.

_God, you’re annoying._

Steve rearranges his hair to the other side. It’s encouraging how much lighter he feels compared to a few moments ago. Practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Cautiously, he climbs onto the gurney. Carefully avoiding all the cords and Billy’s legs until he’s about an inch from his face.

“Do not test me, Hargrove.”

They haven’t kissed since that night. Not like that was a real kiss anyway, with Steve writhing on the floor, praying for the end to come. This is _it_, though. Proper and deep. _Passionate_, Steve allows himself to think. All his favorite fairy tales end with the hero returning to his lady-love, bruised and bandaged and then they live happily ever after. It’s delicate, too. Even if he is precariously straddling Billy, too fearful to apply too much pressure on his lower half. His fingers tangle in dirty hair.

“I’m going to give you a bath when we get home.”

Billy moans into his mouth. His voice reverberates from Steve’s bottom lip. “Going to clean me with your pansy-ass soaps?”

He sounds pretty thrilled by the prospect, actually. Steve’s pretty excited, too. His mind’s in high gear, already imagining them taking a bath together. When he’s feeling better he’ll make Billy wash his hair. They’ll kiss a ton and have boring missionary sex at 9pm with the lights off.

He tells Billy his plans in-between kisses.

“Damn, Harrington. You’re wild.”

They both laugh into each other. This is so easy and light. Seems a shame to have denied themselves this for so long. Billy touches his back, reassuringly. Pulls his mouth away from Steve’s lips and attaches to his neck. It tickles, but Steve’s not going to tell him to stop.

“I wanna go down on you.” He murmurs into Steve’s clavicle.

“What, right now?” It’s a hot idea. Steve’s wanted it since forever ago, but he’s doubtful that Billy can actually move out of his current sitting position.

“When we get _home._”

_Fascinating._

He coos at Billy, “You wanna suck my cock so bad, baby?” A month ago, something like this would have earned him a punch in the face. Now, Billy’s responsiveness itself.

“I want you to fuck my mouth.” He gives a light bite into the soft tissue above his pec. Slides his tongue over it to soothe. “Then you’re going to sit on my face for a while.”

And yeah, Steve saw this coming. Only a blind man could miss Billy Hargrove’s oral fixation. Cigarettes. Whistles. Gum. The various other comings and goings of Billy’s mouth. 

Steve’s breathing is getting shallow. He rubs up against Billy’s crotch. His fingers shake slightly, as he pulls them together.

“Then, what?”

“Then, I’ll make you cry on my dick, again.”

“Maybe I can make you cry on mine?”

“Whatever. We can do both. Only in missionary, though. Wouldn’t want to disrupt your Suzy Homemaker fantasies. Or think I'm disrespecting you.”

“You’re going to respect me?” Steve intones. Shifts the blanket and hospital pyjamas down. Unzips his fly. He touches their cocks together and it’s somehow the single most romantic thing he’s ever done. Humping at Billy on an unstable hospital gurney.

_That’s how your father and I got together, kids. _

“Imma respect you so hard. All over your house. Twice in the shower.” Billy winces a little. Too much exertion for someone who almost had his insides ripped out. Still, he wraps a hand around both their dicks. It’s dry, but the coarseness feels damn good, causing Steve to relax deeper into his lap.

“You’re going to feel so respected. Your dyke friend is gonna wonder why you can’t walk properly.” He’s rambling. Dirty talk Billy is back, which is by far, the most telling evidence that he’s on the mend.

“Just say Robin. Jesus.” He covers Billy’s mouth with a kiss before he says something else to ruin this moment for them. They rut, in little unstable waves. It should be mundane but it’s so heartfelt. He missed Billy. So much. The thought of him dying for a girl he didn’t know while Steve watched from a balcony, too far to reach him, to even scream out, does something awful to his brain.

He’s already exceeded the quota he’s set himself for crying in Billy’s presence. But also, he can’t help it.

He’s alive. They’re together.

He feels the wetness slide onto his cheek. Grips tightly onto the bed to prevent Billy from commenting. It’s a rare moment. Them coming together. They’re super erratic and jerky and mostly silent. One of them lets out a slight gasp. Steve’s not exactly sure who. Then there’s relief and a sigh.

When he lets go of Billy, his eyes are red too. Big, wet eyelashes clump together in groups. It makes his face look doll-like.

His cheeks are flushed and he brings up a hand to Steve’s face. Cups his cheek. His brows are furrowed with concentration.

“Me too, you know.”

_Yeah, I know. _

**Author's Note:**

> Billy and Steve are u-haul lesbians now, I've decided.


End file.
